


keep the earth below my feet

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets, part ii. [41]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Human Lydia Martin, Light Angst, Pets, Tumblr Prompt, Werewolf Senses, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 12:56:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14934659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: “No.” The word sounds suspiciously like a growl, like it was spoken through jutting fangs, and Lydia’s chest aches. Not with empathy; she can’t even begin to understand what Cora is going through, can’t pretend that she knows how it feels to have the moon under your skin, tugging like embedded fishhooks.But her heart aches nonetheless, because that’s what happens when someone you love is in pain: you feel it too. Perhaps the pain is quieter, but you feel it too.Cora’s head emerges from the blanket again, and when she continues, there’s only the rasp of thirst present in her voice. “Please don’t leave, Lydia.”





	keep the earth below my feet

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the prompt, "Cora/Lydia + Please don't leave me." technically, this is a sequel to [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822248) Cora/Lydia fic that I wrote earlier this year, but it can also be read as a standalone (I think? I sure hope so, at least).
> 
> title from [Below My Feet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZVVXGuurXbA%22) by Mumford and Sons.

On the evening of the first full moon of winter, Lydia comes home to an utterly silent, dark apartment.

The click of the door as she locks it behind herself, followed by the muted clicking of her heels on the rug blanketing the floor of the hallway, seems absurdly loud, as abrupt as someone screaming in a lecture hall during the middle of an exam. She bypasses the light switches in favor of using her phone as a torch for just long enough to hang her coat up in the hall closet and slip out of her shoes, after which she returns it to her bag and steps into the living room, trying to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible.

Unfortunately, since there’s nothing she can do to quiet her breathing or mute her heartbeat, her efforts probably aren’t going to help much, but she has to do _something_.

The blinds are drawn in the living room, and it takes a few moments for the room to swim into bleary focus. The power lights of her television and power bar are glowing softly red like mismatched eyes, and they’re the only source of illumination in the room. There’s a lump on the couch, but after a moment, she realizes that it’s just a duvet, heaped up in a messy pile, thrown there with a groan of pain and frustration, she suspects.

She drops off her bag in what is nominally still her bedroom, if only by virtue of the fact it’s where all of her things are - in actuality, the boundaries between what is her space and what is Cora’s blurred months ago. Much of the apartment is not so much _hers_ as it is _theirs_ now.

But this time of month always tends to change those boundaries, tends to make them gain some kind of definition. Unfortunately, there’s no way to predict ahead of time just _how_ much definition; sometime, Cora wants Lydia to be at her side. Sometimes, she wants to stay locked in her room with Star, the dog they brought home from the shelter a few weeks after Cora moved cross-country to become Lydia’s roommate.

Sometimes, Cora wants to be totally and utterly alone.

Lydia suspects that tonight isn’t one of those nights, if only because, based on the fact that she hasn’t made an appearance yet, Star is in Cora’s bedroom with her. Crossing the hall between their doors, hers open and Cora’s firmly closed, feels a little like stepping onto a battlefield.

She’s been in enough battles for it to be an utterly familiar feeling.

She raps gently on Cora’s door and waits for a moment, the sound of her knock seeming to expand and fill the space around her. She hears faint rustling, following by the gentle clacking of Star’s nails on the floor as she approaches the door, but she doesn’t hear anything from Cora, so she tries again.

“Cora?” She keeps her voice just above a whisper, although she’s sure that it’s as loud as a scream in Cora’s oversensitive ears. “Can I come in?”

She waits. Eventually, a raspy voice, barely recognizable, answers her.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” She doesn’t know how long Cora has been sequestered, doesn’t know if she’s gotten up to eat or drink, so she goes back to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and a container of applesauce. When she returns, she pushes Cora’s door open as gently as possible and is met by Star, who is sitting on Cora’s rug and wagging her tail softly. After Lydia closes the door again, Star gets to her feet and hops back onto the bed, stretches out along the edge of the mattress. It takes a few more moments for Lydia’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, but she catches a paler shape that she’s willing to bet is one of Cora’s hands venturing out of the blanket fortress she’s constructed in order to pet Star’s flank.

“I brought some food and water,” Lydia says, setting the bottle and the applesauce down on Cora’s bedside table. It’s spartan when compared to Lydia’s; the only thing on it is a lamp that is almost certainly unplugged. The air in the room is thick and stuffy, tastes dusty on her tongue and smells faintly of sweat. After a moment, the blanket rustles and shifts, and Cora slowly pokes her head out.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, taking the bottle of water. She downs the entire thing in only a few swigs and crumples the plastic in her hand, drops it to the floor. Now that she’s closer, Lydia realizes she can smell blood, and she wonders how many times the skin stretched across Cora’s palms has split and healed and split again over the last few hours.

For the time being, Cora doesn’t touch the applesauce. Instead, she retreats back underneath the blanket, like a turtle returning to the safety of its shell, and Lydia remains standing beside the bed. She isn’t sure what her role is here, what part she’s supposed to play, whether she should stay or go.

Uncertainty is a bizarre feeling to her, almost foreign, but then again, Cora was always good at keeping her on her toes.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asks, absently reaching out and scratching underneath Star’s chin. “I can go stay with Sarah if it’s too much, or-”

“ _No_.” The word sounds suspiciously like a growl, like it was spoken through jutting fangs, and Lydia’s chest aches. Not with empathy; she can’t even begin to understand what Cora is going through, can’t pretend that she knows how it feels to have the moon under your skin, tugging like embedded fishhooks.

But her heart aches nonetheless, because that’s what happens when someone you love is in pain: you feel it too. Perhaps the pain is quieter, but you feel it too.

Cora’s head emerges from the blanket again, and when she continues, there’s only the rasp of thirst present in her voice. “Please don’t leave, Lydia.” 

The ache in Lydia’s chest grows and expands, like tree roots reaching out underneath the surface of the earth to fill every hollow spot in her chest.

“Okay,” she replies. She goes around to the end of the bed and sits down on the edge of the mattress to start. When Cora doesn’t show any adverse reaction, she moves up higher, until she’s mirroring Cora’s position, stretched out on top of the covers between the cool surface of the wall and the coal-warm length of Cora’s body. After a moment, Cora slides backwards a few inches, and Lydia takes it as the hint it is. She molds herself around Cora’s frame, a little bit at a time. Cora’s hair, knotted and unwashed, brushes against the tip of Lydia’s nose, and she presses forward just a little further, so that she can brush her mouth against Cora’s scalp. “If you want me to leave, just tell me.”

“I will.”

Lydia dozes for the next few hours, with one arm around Cora’s waist, palm resting against the steady rise and fall of Star’s ribs, sure that at any moment, she’ll be awoken by Cora asking her to leave.

But that never happens.

Instead, the next time Cora talks, she sounds a little better, like maybe she’s gotten some sleep, like maybe the ache in _her_ chest has subsided some.

“Could you help me wash my hair?”

Lydia nods and presses another kiss to the top of Cora’s head.

“Of course I can.”

She leaves _I’d do anything for you_ unspoken, but she’s sure that Cora hears it all in the same in the beating of her heart and the shift of her breath.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
